I would die for you.

Just say the word and I would end my life, the most beautiful way possible, my final piece of artwork as I flunked every art lesson this is a canvas I know how to beautify.

My dad sold his gun last year when he lost his job, pills make you drowsy enough you won’t complete the necessary dosage, falling leaves a mangled corpse not fit to be surrounded by flowers and Ophelia would look black and bloated after drowning.

I snuck a book out of the library, it said that if I were to slash my wrists horizontally as my first intuition told me I would survive and bear the stitches to my deathbed eighty years from now. I know today I have to slash through the artery, split it open so I could wash your feet with my blood, scrub them with my hair as my Lord and Savior did.

Just say the words and I will wash away your sins.